


A Day to Remember

by lloulette



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Healing, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lloulette/pseuds/lloulette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out at dinner with Mary, John spots someone he never thought he'd see again. Inspired by <a href="http://ughbenedict.tumblr.com/post/57265622334/ughbenedicts-and-wolfflocks-prompt">this</a> writing prompt and the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=llGXWICGsD4">Sherlock Series 3 teaser trailer</a> (released on August 2nd, 2013).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day to Remember

Mary reaches across the table and takes hold of John’s hand. Looking up from his menu, he smiles at her as she gives him a gentle squeeze. 

“See anything you like?” she asks.

John chuckles. “Definitely.” 

Mary laughs lightly, withdraws her hand and focuses back on her menu. John tries to continue looking over his as well, but his mind wanders and he finds himself only being able to think of her. He cannot justly articulate just how supportive Mary has been over the last year. No one -- not Lestrade, or Molly, or even Mrs. Hudson -- was able to bring him back like she did. 

He loves her more than he can say. And to think, not too long ago he had felt more lonely than he had ever thought was possible. After all the months of isolation, the missed sessions with Ella, the nights where all he wanted to do was sleep without end and escape his wretched life forever; he finally had a reason to keep breathing. 

And now, after such a short time together, she is everything to him. To John, who will always have trust issues. John, whose heartache will never truly fade away. She is his best friend, the most important person in his life, the exception of his mistrust. And if everything goes well tonight, she will soon be his wife.

Only one other person had ever had such an effect on him before. 

He suspects Mary knows the date of the Fall by heart, as she has been especially kind these past few weeks and seems to be trying her best to keep his mind preoccupied. Winter is when it gets most difficult for John, as that is when the anniversary and all the holidays he used to share with someone else occur.

However, tonight isn’t about whatever happened two years prior. It’s about _them._

There are a lot of things John suspects Mary knows, and his intentions for this evening are among them. It would explain her choice of perfume, her new dress, her frequent smiles and displays of affection. He takes that as a good sign, but is still nervous about how the night is going to go.

Because John doesn’t want to associate this time of year with such heartbreak anymore. This dinner will hopefully see to that. But he knows, deep down, it will always be at the back of his mind. Two years, ten years, thirty years from now -- it does not matter. He will always remember winter this way.

But slowly and surely, Mary is healing him. The dull ache in his chest is slowly subsiding, though it will always be there. He wishes he could find the right words to tell her how much she has done for him, how much she means to him. But it is inexpressible. 

They order their food and talk about lighter subjects. John laughs at one of Mary’s witticisms, Mary playfully nudges John’s foot underneath the table after a particularly teasing remark.

It has taken two years -- but John’s life is finally coming back together.

~~~

Sherlock drums his glove-clad fingers impatiently on the leather seat next to him. The taxi is moving slower than he can stand, the idiot cabbie barely making an effort to get him to his destination in the amount of time Sherlock needs him to.

“Tell me, could you _possibly_ go any slower?” he asks. No response.

Sherlock huffs and checks his watch. Upon completely dissolving the last of Moriarty’s connections, he has made his way back to England as quickly as he can. Everything seemed to race by as he traveled home, with only one thing on his mind. Now, closer than ever, time seems to slow down. His heart begins to thump wildly as he looks up and notices that the taxi is finally nearing the restaurant. 

Thanks to Mycroft and CCTV, Sherlock knows exactly where to go to find the man he is looking for. The taxi pulls up outside the building and he jumps out, throwing far too much money at the driver as he does so. He practically runs to the front door, almost giddy with excitement. 

Sherlock enters and sheds his grand coat, handing it to an employee at the front of the room. He’s seconds away from what he came all this way to see. Two years of hiding, lying and living like a runaway are all about to pay off. This moment -- this man -- is the only thing that got Sherlock through it all. 

John. 

His blogger. His flatmate. His best friend. There are, in fact, several people whom Sherlock will go as far as to call acquaintances, but no relationship can compare to what he shares with John. He has somehow wriggled his way into Sherlock’s heart and mind, and there doesn’t seem to be a way to get rid of him.

Sherlock’s heart beats with increasing tempo as he begins to search for John. Confidentially navigating the restaurant, he walks inconspicuously about until finally, he finds him.

Sherlock’s face goes pale and he wonders if he is really ready for such an overload of emotions. Standing stock-still, the sight of John before him fills his sight, thoughts, senses. His heartbeat goes from unbelievably rapid to almost nonexistent, and he can’t seem to move his feet beneath him. He cannot believe it’s really happening, after all those weeks, months, _years_ of waiting.

He takes John in: _Looking at a menu. Dessert. Dressed sharp. Not usual attire. For a special occasion, most likely. Choice of restaurant implies some sort of celebratory dinner. Hair is more grey. Stress? Or just genetics? Has grown a mustache. Why the change? Drinking white wine. Definitely special occasion, then. Seems at ease. Looks... happy._

Sherlock cannot seem to look away from him until he suddenly realizes that John is not alone at the table. Opposite him sits a blond woman of roughly thirty five. She is holding John’s hand and looking at her own menu, stroking John’s wrist absentmindedly with her thumb. She says something from behind the page and he can hear John laugh.

_Woman, close to his age. Particular display of affection implies a long-term relationship. New dress. She is encouraging him. But what for? Is he-- oh._

John has replaced him.

_Of course._

Sherlock feels his face fall as all the positive emotions he had previously been feeling fall to pieces. He cannot believe he has been so foolish as to think for one second that John would care about what he has done. Here it is, two years later, and John is doing exactly what any rational person would be doing: moving on. 

Sherlock turns, wanting to leave the restaurant before he is seen. If John is happy, let him be happy -- seeing Sherlock will just confuse him and would definitely ruin his evening. 

However, John looks up and makes eye contact -- barely but surely -- with Sherlock, just as he begins to quickly walk away. Sherlock cannot think clearly as he grabs his coat and leaves the building as swiftly as he entered, extreme disillusionment clouding his thoughts. He can feel John’s intense stare on him as he goes.

~~~

“John?”

John stares after the man, feeling as if he has just been hit by a truck. 

“John?” Mary repeats, “Are you alright?”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stands, tosses the napkin from his lap onto the table and runs out of the restaurant, not even thinking to grab his coat. It’s freezing outside, but he could not care less if what he had seen was real. 

There is no one to be seen outside, but he is almost certain of what he saw. “Sherlock?” he cries it into the dark, damp street. It is the first time he’s said the name out loud for as long as he can remember, and its mere mention nearly brings him to tears.

 _“Sherlock?”_ It’s more of a desperate plea than a call. He cannot bear to be wrong this time.

Over the months he has gotten plenty of glimpses of people he thought to be his old flatmate. Of course, it was never him. But this time was different. It had seemed so... real. He had felt so sure. 

John tries to call out once more but his voice breaks halfway through, and he collapses onto the curb, stifling a sob. Things had been going so well, his life was finally getting back on track. And now, after seeing another mere figment of his imagination, he is left alone to cry out in the dark for someone who can never answer him. What to tell Mary, he has no clue. 

Shivering, John wraps his arms around his torso and tries to calm himself before going back inside. Perhaps this is a sign that he needs to stop chasing after these dreams, clinging to foolish hopes.

Someone moves behind him. “John.”

He freezes. There was -- is? -- only one man on the planet who sounded like that. One man whom John would fight for, suffer for, take a bullet for. One man who had the power to build up John’s world but could also send it crashing down in mere seconds.

John turns abruptly to see Sherlock standing there, more real than he could ever hope for. He blinks again and again, but there Sherlock remains. John slowly stands up and just stares ahead, not saying anything.

Sherlock looks back with despair in his eyes. “John?”

John looks for the right words to say but his brain is currently incapable of forming sentences. His jaw slack and his pupils dilated, all he can do is stare.

"Sher... _Sherlock?_ "he asks weakly.

There is a pause, and neither man says a word. As if on cue, Mary comes out of the building, having spotted John on the sidewalk. She is rummaging through her bag and carries John's coat with her. “Now where did you get off to? I just paid for the--” she stops mid sentence upon looking up and taking in the scene before her.

For a moment, no one says a word. The silence grows, begging to be broken, but all John can do is stare. After several moments, Mary finally gets out, “John. Is that...?”

“Yes,” John says, finally remembering how to speak.

Mary, stricken, covers her mouth with her hands. Sherlock steps towards John and reaches for his shoulder, but John flinches away from his touch. Sherlock ignores the action.

“You must allow me to explain myself,” he says.

John is stunned. “Explain... yourself?”

Sherlock nods. “Moriarty-- he threatened me. He said--”

John can't believe what is happening. “Stop.”

“John, no. This is important--”

“I said _stop_.” John’s voice is low and full of malice. He has no trouble speaking now. “Two years. Two _fucking_ years, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stops trying to speak and looks down, not able to meet John’s glare.

“What happened at Bart’s... it was too much. It was all too much. Do you know how much-- how many times--” John's breath is shaky as he finds himself yet again unable to relay the extreme depth of his agony.

“John--” Sherlock reaches out to him once more, but John pushes him away.

“Get off me,” he spits, and turns to Mary. “Let’s go.” 

John walks over to Mary and rests his hand on her back, guiding her away from the restaurant with him.

Sherlock is stunned. He does not dare chase after them, though he desperately wants to. He calls after the two. 

“John, forgive me. I didn’t know you would be so affected.” 

To his surprise, this causes John to whip around and face him once more. 

“So... so... _affected_?” John lets go of Mary and walks back to Sherlock. All his pain, all his misery and hatred and grief well up in his heart, and travel to his left hand. With all his might, he sends his fist sailing through the air. It makes contact with Sherlock’s face with a satisfying smack, sending the man straight to the ground with a loud cry of pain. This time, he does not make sure to avoid Sherlock’s nose and teeth. This time, he means it. 

“John!” Mary shouts, rushing over to them, bending down to look at Sherlock’s bleeding, swelling face. “What on earth--”

“You have no idea what I went through, Sherlock!” he bellows, and it feels so incredibly good to finally admit it. “No _fucking_ idea!”

Sherlock looks up at him from the pavement, absolutely stupefied. He stands again with much difficulty, though Mary is helping him up.

“I thought my life was over! I-- I--” 

“John, calm down--” 

“Mary, no. I can’t. This man--”

Mary makes a motion as if to grab John’s shoulders and get him to compose himself, but Sherlock beats her to it. With one sweeping motion, he gathers John in his arms and embraces him, holding him tightly.

John is stunned, and struggles to get free. His anger guides his arms and he tries to strike out at Sherlock, but he cannot move. 

Something changes in him. Feeling Sherlock’s long arms around him, feeling his heartbeat so close, so _constant_ , John remembers all the nights he dreamt of this happening, only to wake and realize it was just a dream. All the days he spent by himself, hoping for something he knew would never happen, wishing he could see Sherlock just one more time and tell him he was sorry, so sorry for everything. Too many times he dreamt of this moment, just a tortuously impossible fantasy, and now it was all coming true.

John breaks.

He sobs into Sherlock’s coat, ceasing his struggles and just breathing in the scent of the man before him. Sherlock holds on even tighter as John brings his arms up and returns the hug, never wanting to let go. The moment is so shocking and raw and just so _beautiful_ , and when John looks up he is astounded to see that Sherlock is honestly, legitimately _crying_ with him.

They hold on to each other for quite some time. Mary sniffles a few feet away, and John turns his head to see her smiling through her tears. 

Eventually, John slowly steps back after they both calm down and wipes his eyes and cheeks with his hands. His voice is quiet and tight from crying, but he has something to say. “The truth is, Sherlock... I can’t even begin to describe what I went through. What you meant -- mean -- to me.”

Sherlock’s bottom lip trembles and he smiles. “The feeling is mutual,” he replies. 

John smiles back, but after a second his face is again serious. “It’s going to take time for me to forgive you, Sherlock,” John says. “Can you give me that?”

“Of course,” Sherlock assures him, “of course, John.”

John nods, and rests his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “But I will forgive you. In time.” He lets go but doesn't move away.

Mary sees this as her time to go. She knows she will have plenty of time to get to know this amazing friend of John’s, but right now it is John who needs his company, not she.

“You two go on. John, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, and walks over to kiss him goodbye before leaving, the two sharing a look in which John hopes his deep gratitude is understood. She hands him his coat and turns away.

She is wonderful, his Mary. Wonderful beyond words. He watches her go, overcome with emotion, then turns to Sherlock expectantly. 

Sherlock smiles. “Where to?”

John does not care where they go as long as Sherlock never leaves him again. He is still angry beyond belief, but at that moment there is no one else he’d rather spend the rest of the night with. His plans for the evening had changed significantly, but his proposal to Mary can wait another day, another week, another month. This is now, this man beside him is more real than he can imagine, and John misses his old life too much to let it slip away again.

Sherlock and John walk in the opposite direction as Mary, both knowing exactly where to go but neither saying it out loud. John breathes in the cold air deeply, finally donning his coat and walking beside his friend like he had all those years ago.

He knows it will take time, but his heart begins to lighten, knowing that one day his friendship with Sherlock will be restored.

It has taken two years -- but John’s life is finally coming back together.


End file.
